Yes, I've been to the Cloud District
by FineClothes
Summary: NOT A CRACK FIC. When Nazeem's precious hand is grabbed by a hippie one day, his whole world is changed forever as he learns about Talos and how not to be a septim-pincher. Not in the M-rated kind of way, but the romcom kind of way.
1. Chapter 1

Heimskrr x Nazeem Romance

Hi, this is Fine and Clothes~. Yes we are 2 authors collaborating on this work of art. Pls give us a chance, it's our first time writing fanfiction and we did it about the most annoying characters in Skyrim.

We are actually serious about this fanfic and it was a challenge to write a convincing love story. If we get enough positive feedback and readers, we hope to continue and write a full fledged gay romance.

Oh stop it, Clothes - Fine

Let's face it, they both need some love too.

 **Chapter 1**

It was the typical rainy day in a metropolitan city close to the ocean, in an allergy inducing season.

"Wake up Nazeem, brush your teeth Nazeem, ask yourself if you've been to the Cloud District Nazeem - even if he knows he's been there a thousand times - and remember to bring an umbrella Nazeem."

His eyes twitched as they gradually got acquainted with the Frostfall sunrise and he hissed at his alarm clock. Although it was blaring out his expertly recorded theme song, he couldn't find himself looking forward to today. The song, Nazeem, Slayer of Peasants stopped playing as he stroked his delicate palm over the snooze button. Deciding whether or not to press it was a dilemma of the ages. Would he go back to sleep like a mundane mongrel or listen to Professor Farengar's lecture today? Neither option appealed to him, but Professor Farengar's lecture would probably lead him on the path to success and just barely passing his Arcane Arts elective.

Getting out of bed was the bane of a university student. Actually, perhaps it was the torrent of midterms and finals. In another universe, one of farmers and country bumpkins maybe, it would not be a problem. Alas, he thankfully lived a life of privilege studying at Dragonsreach University, peering down at the masses. A harsh existence indeed, but still miles better than the poor chaps who have to fetch frost salts for Arcadia's Cauldron, the token alchemist company. Remembering that he did not even know a lick of magic, he resolved to learn from Professor Farengar and prove to him that yes, he can indeed soul trap a chicken. Afterwards, he can finally progress onto the study of real art, the beautiful gleam of a septim, and the canoodling of pockets. For that to happen, he needed a place to firmly lay his roots… and the only place he could do that was the magnificent Cloud District.

For all of the uneducated, the Cloud District was the holiest part of city to do business of all sorts. The only language spoken by its residents was how to milk every drop of septim from anywhere. Unsuspecting bratty children and rowdy drunkards were the ripest pickings. Rows and rows of towering skyscrapers gave the district distinction from the rest of the unholy city. There was no time to slow down and admire the views when there was coin to be made.

Appreciation for the Cloud District was a must, especially when one wishes to form connections and move up the echelons of the modern world. The line "have you ever been to the Cloud District" was drilled into his mind. As an economics major, it was a necessary mantra for the well-being of his education and net worth. Everyone who rose to the top began in the Cloud District. The next wolves of Wall Street and the lowly interns at the Bard's College frequented the area. Hopefully, he wouldn't end up at the Bard's College. It was a rather _unrefined_ and tacky place to start his prosperous career; He most definitely did not want to spend his valuable time chasing after King Olaf's verses.

He rolled his way out of bed, as smooth as the Dragonborn would, and moved his grubby hands towards his closet. It was always the same clothes. _Fine clothes._ From _Radiant Raiments._ He loved the _fine_ selection of clothes, even if the shop was owned by two altmer hags, Taarie and Endarie. They had such _fine_ taste albeit their offensive personalities.

" _Fine clothes_ for a _fine_ man, the world cannot wait for you, Nazeem Dudiz," he declared proudly to himself.

A screech in the kitchen broke the reverie of the most annoying man in Skyrim.

"Nazeem! Come get your sweet roll, it's time to go! You wouldn't want to be late to Soul Trapping 101 would you?" yelled his sister, Ahlam.

Ahlam was his dear sister, but at times he couldn't bear her incessant nagging. The feeling was also mutual for her as she had to wake up to Nazeem's theme song every morning.

"I'm on my way, you peas-, I mean, sis. No need to scream my ears off. Good ridd-, err day," he responded in kind.

Of course, he held his older sister in the highest of regards, not just because she was an intern at the famed Arcadia's Cauldron, but because she could spike his sweetroll with poison if she really wanted to. Not the weak frostbite spider's venom, but the jarrin root kind, the one the Dragonborn almost drank by accident. It was the same root that went into that weird concoction served to the Emperor which he read in history books during his youth at Honorhall Orphanage.

Another reason to respect his sister: she was the one who raised him to be the fabulous Nazeem Dudiz he is today after their parents died from drinking poisoned Honningbrew mead. They dropped to the floor like a sack of useless cabbages in a dungeon after a drop slipped past their lips. Having lost their parents at the tender ages of 5 and 8, the siblings were sent to Honorhall Orphanage. The children's world as they knew it changed forevermore after the death of their parents. As if it was Christmas, the rest of the Dudiz family celebrated for Fhelp-Si and Sherrra Dudiz, those penny-pinching perps were dead. Obviously, nobody came forth to take care of the kids so they were sent to Honorhall. At least they inherited their parent's secret stash of septims as delivered by the courier who appeared at the foot of their bed in the middle of the night so they were not dirt poor. Sadly, their situation only worsened when they met the nasty witch of a headmistress, Grelod the Kind. Anyone who "shirked their duties will get an extra beating" from her and not to mention the horrid words of so-called love they were forced to proclaim every single day.

Brave and young Ahlam protected the stubborn little Nazeem from Grelod's wrath often. He had a penchant for irritating the old caretaker and Grelod would have none of it. A sharp slap would ring out in the orphanage whenever Grelod couldn't stand Nazeem anymore. However, it wouldn't be the cheeky Nazeem who was hit, but Ahlam. She would stand in front of her younger brother every single time to bear the brunt of the damage. From the very first time she was struck by Grelod, Ahlam vowed to always take care of Nazeem and to raise him similar to how their mother would've done. Needless to say, she obviously did a fine job in Nazeem's eyes.

Nazeem shuddered, recalling how the children had to proclaim "we love you Grelod, thank you for your kindness."

Whilst walking out the door, Nazeem absentmindedly checked his phone and saw that Daily Hive has yet again said that the TransLink has deemed the 410 bus route to the Cloud District inaccessible for a week.

"Those wretched Stormcloaks in power! Can't they make a deal with TransLink already?"

Sick and tired of the ongoing protests and demonstrations from his favourite transportation company, and not to mention the White-Gold Concordat splitting off the entire northern part of Vancouver as a different fast travel zone, he tiredly trudged trudged into the elevator and the doors closed.

 _Ding! Ground floor!_

The elevator clunked open, and Nazeem stomped out to begin his "exciting" day.

The slow saunter to the skytrain station was actually rather mundane and every part of the scenery repeated itself without fail.

"Oh look its Carlotta being harassed by that bard again and Braith is calling Lars a pansy again," he murmured to himself.

The only exception to the stagnant scenery was the Gildergreen, a tree right in the middle of the city square that slowly withered away. Someone ought to save that tree alright, just not him. He had no time for that. Maybe when Danica, thet tree hugging hippie, gets off her ass, something good will happen to that tree for once.

With the station in view, he quickened his pace to a light power walk, almost kneeing a curled up Lars in the face. Well, he wasn't certain about that matter, but it is of no concern. Lars needed a good kick sometimes to set him straight.

'What a pansy,' the Redguard thought.

The station was normally not very busy during the mornings, but due to the not to be mentioned bastards running the government, everyone needed to beat the morning rush for the whole week. Nazeem smirked as he saw people lining up in front of the Fast Travel card refill stations. No one expected the circumstances befalling the 410 route, but himself. He already had his card with 500 septims ready to go. Strolling to the black plastic gates, a dirty plebeian hand grabs onto his vintage 1930s-esque _fine_ sleeves.

AN: If you loved this, please comment, follow/fav. If you hated this, please comment. WE LOVE, LOVEEEEE COMMENTS (*cough cough for those who understand the reference). Constructive criticism will be much appreciated. Until then, see you next time in the cloud district amigos ;)


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: We do not condone any actions taken by the characters. This work of fiction was done to portray our characters as we believe them to be. We are not trying to offend anyone and we respect all religions. Also, we do not own the lore and characters, it belongs to Bethesda.

"Eugh unhand me!" Nazeem screeched with disgust, as he furiously wrenched his arm away from the perpetrator. Shaking his precious limb a couple of times, he blew on it to rid it of bacteria and oils.

Turning his head, he set his scorching gaze upon a hooded hermit. Not just any ordinary hermit, but this one was fully cloaked in a brown poncho with the words "WE ARE BUT MAGGOTS" front and center on it. The man was shabby from head to toe, even wearing socks with crocs. What a fashion terrorist.

And he had the audacity to soil the Great Nazeem's sleeve. His _fine FINE_ sleeves! How dare he!

"Sir, have you heard of the God, Talos? He is almighty, guiding us on the correct path to Sovngarde," the hermit questioned innocently.

A look of pure adoration was on the hooded one's face and it was as if he had discovered the secrets to the universe. Which was highly likely, but not really. After all, there were no gods or spirits in this world, according to Nazeem. There were only septims and sweet rolls, and it was disgraceful that this hermit was devoted to neither.

"Oh, not you Talos conmen again! You're on the same level as those crazy Jehovah's Witnesses! Here's a septim to ward you off. I'm being very generous here," spouted the darker-skinned man.

The hermit brushed off the "offhand" comments and continued on with a smile. Some people's eyes were harder to open than the others. A good servant of Talos must keep on trying until he dies and rises to Sovngarde. And what better way to do that by shouting a sermon everyday!

The hermit took a deep breath and began…

" _Talos the mighty! Talos the unerring! Talos the unassailable! To you we give praise!_

 _We are but maggots, writhing in the filth of our own corruption! While you have ascended from the dung of mortality, and now walk among the stars!_

 _But you were once man! Aye! And as man, you said, "Let me show you the power of Talos Stormcrown, born of the North, where my breath is long winter. I breathe now, in royalty, and reshape this land which is mine. I do this for you, Red Legions, for I love you."_

Nazeem stood there in shock as the hermit blurbed the first lines of the passage. He quickly recovered and brusquely opened his mouth to stop this atrocity coming from this looney's mouth.

"Stop this madness you Talos worshipping imbecile!" wailed Nazeem. His flapping of arms intensified. His bingo wings flailed.

"Sir, I insist! You must be cleansed of your sins and repent to Talos. This way, you'll make it to Sovngarde," pleaded the hermit.

"I'm not even a Nord you looney!"

"I have a name and it's Heimskr, not Looney! I am, but a maggot called HEIMSKR, born to serve the mighty Talos," proclaimed our finally known annoying protagonist.

"Well, then Ham Skirt, get out of my way. For the glimmer of a septim, I hope we never see each other again."

With a hard shove, Heimskr was knocked to the ground as Nazeem strode off without sparing a glance. Quick on his feet, the pseudo-beggar leaps back on his feet with renewed vigour.

"May Talos have mercy on your lost soul, dear brother! May He be ever-forgiving and save you from eternal damnation and the devilish sound of picking up Meridia's Beacon!"

* * *

"Ok, your next assessment is upon us. I will be testing each of you to see if you can soul trap a chicken into this iron dagger," announced Professor Farengar.

Nazeem groaned and buried his head into his palms. Just his luck, his professor had to spring a pop quiz on the class today. To others, it was an easy task, soul trapping a chicken. However, Nazeem was a special little snowflake. Notorious throughout campus for his less than stellar wizarding abilities, just a tiny puff of ice coming from his fingertips was a struggle of the ages.

 _*Flashback = italics_

" _That was a perfect blizzard Ancano! 10/10 for lethality, coldness, and sound effect! Next, student in line please!"_

 _Everyone gasped and braced themselves for the apprentice who managed to hurt someone with a heal spell. The poor victim was diagnosed with PTSD and ran away from the certain apprentice whenever he was in sight._

 _Walking to the middle of the circle, Nazeem closed his eyes and took deep breaths before raising his hands. He concentrated for what seemed like an eternity and his fingertips started glowing a dazzling white. He quickly held them up in what seemed like a jazz hands position and let all of the winter's fury out of him._

 _*poof*_

 _Nothing seemed to have happened so Nazeem concentrated again, tapping into all the inner chi he can muster in his body before releasing all his energy._

" _Well, my fellow student, better luck next time?" questioned Professor Wylandriah. Miniscule snowflakes had spewed out of Nazeem's fingers for a few seconds and then it sputtered out. Everyone was trying to contain their giggles as they took in the lame sight of Dragonsreach University's worst mage in history. The jazz hands position never worked._

" _Erm… perhaps I can send you to find another spoon for me? It'd be a make-up assignment," Professor Wylandriah said as Nazeem stormed out the door._

One by one, students went up to the front of the classroom and demonstrated perfect technique, successfully soul trapping a chicken. Finally, everyone had done it except for Nazeem who still lay unresponsive on his desk, groaning about his predicament.

"It's just you at the back there! Come on up and blow us away with your talent, fellow student!" cheered Professor Farengar. Clearly, he had never seen Nazeem in action. The reluctant student dragged his feet to stand in front of the chicken's cage.

Once again, Nazeem concentrated with his eyes closed, his inner mana trying to tether the chicken's soul to the dagger. As always, he took an impossible amount of time channeling his energy as the chicken stared at him with its beady eyes. It was as if the chicken was screaming at him to get on with it. When he felt warmth dancing at his fingertips, he liberated the energy in the form of a blast.

Slowly opening his eyes, his face fell when he still saw the beady-eyed chicken in a staring contest with him.

"Ha! Of course the loser couldn't do it! Why is he even in a MAGIC class if he can't do the basics?" scoffed Ancano with his long robes billowing around him. Except there was a small spark igniting said robes. Too busy with his mocking, Ancano failed to notice the spark that led to a ignited robe, his _thalmor_ robes. A plume of smoke billowed around him.

"Ancano! Your robes! STOP, DROP AND ROLL! ROLL MY BOY, ROLL!" called out Professor Farengar. The wizard waved his arms around as he summoned water from his hands and directed it to the flailing elf on the floor.

Keen to stay away from the aftermath of this mess, Nazeem tried to sneakily walk out of the classroom. Unfortunately, he hadn't leveled up his sneak skill points enough so Professor Farengar immediately noticed the perpetrator of the whole situation.

"Nazeem! We will talk and discuss your performance in this class now. The rest of you are dismissed!" said the professor.

AU: Hi its Clothes~ and Fine again! Thank you once again for reading our story. We hope you enjoyed this chapter and we promise to keep updating. This is rather slow burn so we won't really get to the romance until much later. Mainly because Nazeem still has an aversion to being touched by a peasant. Please comment down below if you enjoyed or disliked this fic. Comments make the world go around. Also, maybe a comment will be the source of inspiration for future chapters!

(The image above was our inspiration, that lovely chicken man.)

Cheers and see you guys next time!


	3. Chapter 3

AN:

Fine: So hi everyone! We're back with a new chapter. Shoutout to our wonderful 2 followers :)

Clothes~: We know that's far from impressive, but it still means a lot to us!

Fine: Every view honestly makes us really happy.

Clothes~: So once again, thank you for reading! We probably wouldn't have the motivation for this if we didn't get any viewers teehee.

"Nazeem, you are one of a kind, a special snowflake. I've never seen someone just like you!" said Professor Farengar. One might think that this is a feel-good moment, but Farengar had the facial expression of a disappointed father. Who just found out his son failed all of his subjects at school, even PE.

"That's the good news. Now for the bad news, based on your recent performance, I will have to expel you," said the old teacher, shaking his head.

"Professor! I can do better, I'll do anything to get my grades up. With a magic tutor, I'm sure I will improve. You can't just expel me, I have dreams of swimming in sept- uhh, soul gems! That's right, I'll be the best soul-trapper there ever was," claimed Nazeem.

"Alright, I will give you one more chance Nazeem. If by next week, you do not successfully soul-trap a bandit, you will be expelled."

"A hard-ass that Farengar. I would've just sent him to find my salt lick." Wylandriah said as she peered into the lecture hall and then swiftly left, shaking her head.

"A bandit?! How will I ever catch one? My dainty hands can never touched such criminal scum."

"Oh no worries. You see in this cave nearby called White River Watch, there's a special bandit. Here, I'll mark it on your map."

* * *

Nazeem was furious. Enraged. Inflamed by that ass-hat also known as his professor. How dare he send the Great Nazeem on a bandit catching mission.

"Why a bandit of all people, can't he just have gotten me to soul trap a skeever? That would've been nice and easy," Nazeem grumbled.

As he stomped his way out of the building, a certain yell caught his attention.

"Wait good sir! I didn't show you the Talos appreciation circle pamphlet yet!" said a familiar-looking hermit. Nazeem sighed as he observed the shabby charlatan chase after his fellow classmates. Seeing that horrible sight, he promptly turned on his heels to head the other way, before Heimskr could talk to him.

"Aha! Fellow brother, it's you again! Here take a pamphlet, Talos will welcome you with open arms. We hold weekly Talos bible readings every Tirdas," said Heimskr. Too late now, the hermit had spotted him. Groaning in response, Nazeem took the pamphlet and tried to ignite it on fire. With magic. Except for the fact that Nazeem forgot that he was an abysmal mage.

Tiny sparks flew from his fingertips and Heimskr simply stared at him. Like what is this guy doing.

"Sir, are you attempting to burn my pamphlets?" Heimskr inquired.

"What me?! Yeah! I just need to get the heat going a little," said Nazeem as a bead of sweat rolled off his brow.

"Hmm, your hands are positioned wrong and you're not channeling your magicka right. Try holding them out straight with your wrists forming a 90 degree angle from your body. You might also want to yell out some kind of war cry or a motivational bellow as you do it."

"You don't know anything! You're just a cabbage picking looney anyway!"

"I am not a cabbage picker! I am a Cabbage-Skinner! As my father was before me and his father before him! I'll have you know, my family is rather skilled at magic because skinning cabbages with bare hands takes too long. Even longer than chasing after Sanguine Rose!"

Annoyed with the cabbage skinner, Nazeem walked away. When he was out of the Heimskr's sight, he stuck out his sweaty arms and flicked his wrists into a right angle.

"HOO HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!" yelled Nazeem as embers flitted off his fingers. Passerbys checked out this strange man. Who had been shrieking for 20 seconds and still continued to do so. Finally, Nazeem stopped. Gave up. He had unknowingly allowed himself to fall into this pit of darkness, embarrassment. Perhaps magic wasn't for him.

'I really need a tutor,' thought Nazeem. He couldn't go to Penny Pinching 101 without passing this course.

* * *

The next day, Nazeem approached Dragonsreach University's Help Club. There must be somebody skilled in magic who could tutor him. Of course, Wylandriah was great in the arcane arts, but he was pretty sure her tutoring was going to involve a spoon hunt in a draugr tomb again. The question of the century was how the spoon got into the tomb. Another one would be why Wylandriah never gave any details about the spoon itself or why she needed it so badly.

Stepping into the Help Room, a bunch of students were sitting around in a circle on the floor. Bean bag chairs were scattered everywhere, with posters captioned "Keep calm and drop a rock on a bride!" plastered on all four walls. Funnily enough, Vittoria Vici was sitting in the circle trying to cast a stoneflesh spell. Nazeem steeled himself and then opened his mouth to dazzle them with his fine words.

"Hi is this the Help Club? I'm looking for a magic tutor."

Everyone turned around and inspected Nazeem from head to toe.

"You have the head of a khajiit merchant, the legs of Lars Battleborn, and the hands of a septim snatcher. Are you related to Belethor by any chance? Ready to sell your cousin, hmm?" said a helper.

One of the students started to curl up and back into the corner of the wall. _Oh right it was the kid I managed to hurt with the heal spell._

"This guy's build isn't made for dishing out spells! I'd say he should be dishing out potatoes on a farm instead! Chillfurrow Farm always needs help," chimed in another student.

Danica Pure-Spring, the president of the Help Club, stood up from her comfy bean bag chair.

"My fellow members, we can't refuse a student in need. Let's give him a chance first," she proposed. Suddenly the student in the corner started screaming.

"Danica! Look what you've done, to poor Mikael! He hasn't been able to sing in ages, much less talk and the first thing you do is remind him of his trauma!" said Vittoria.

"Wait... I know you."

"You're making a mistake…" Nazeem whimpered.

"There's no doubt about it. You're the infamous Nazeem who somehow hurt Mikael with a healing spell." Danica snickered. Mikael screeched even louder, rocking back and forth in a fetal position upon hearing Nazeem's name.

"I'm sorry Nazeem, but I think it's best if you go now. Mikael needs some space and you're causing him to revisit some rather unpleasant memories," said Danica firmly.

* * *

This pattern continued on for the rest of the week, with various students rejecting his plea for help. How ironic that even the Help Club refused him. The deadline for soul trapping a bandit was soon and Nazeem desperately needed some form of a miracle. He pondered on his options as he began his commute to school. As always, the hermit was there, in front of the skytrain station, shouting all sorts of nonsense. However, something else caught Nazeem's eye. Heimskr was hovering over a chicken with his palms flaring outwards, strands of magic caressing its body. After a short while, the chicken gave a loud squawk and hopped away, its tiny head bobbing.

Intrigued by the display of magic, Nazeem strolled over to Heimskr.

"So you do know magic. What a surprise," Nazeem said.

"Oh it's you can I do for you today? Do you wish to browse through these pamphlets on the wonders of Talos? Or would you like the hotline for Talos Appreciation Therapy?" replied Heimskr.

"Ok, listen up. I may not look like it, but I need help. Can you teach me how to soul trap?"


End file.
